


Saving it for Marriage

by Tammany



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Payback, Revenge, Sexual Content, Snark, Tongue-in-cheek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammany/pseuds/Tammany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ok, my EBIL, NARSTY self got the better of me, and provided one more alternative explanation for Sherlock and Janine's dialog about "Exploiting our connection," and "Saving it until after we were married."</p><p>Sue me. I am old in the ways of the world, and I have a feeeelthy mind sometimes. </p><p>Sherlock's always been associated with exotic Asian disciplines. I just added in one more, for the fun of it.</p><p>And then gave Janine a chance at further revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving it for Marriage

JANINE  _(softly)_ : You lied to me. You lied and lied.  
SHERLOCK: I exploited the fact of our connection.  
JANINE:  _When_?!  
SHERLOCK: Hmm?  
JANINE: Just  _once_  would have been nice.  
SHERLOCK: Oh.  _(He looks a little shifty-eyed.)_  I was waiting until we got married.

(Transcript from Ariane DeVere)

 

The bastard, Janine thought, stalking away from the hospital, the complete, utter bastard. “Exploited?” As if! One month, one whole month and not one single bloody time.

The bastard.

She flagged a taxi, gave the driver the address of the studio for The One Show, and flounced into the back seat, arms crossed, frowning.

God, he’d been good. Clever dick—literally, maybe. She closed her eyes, remembering.

“God, God, God, God---“ her voice slowly broke, ending in screams and panting moans. She arched back, head thrown back, hair tickling the top of her buttocks, stomach one long, soft line from pelvis to the full hills of her breasts. As the last rolling tremor traveled through her, she reversed, bowing down over him, until her head lay on his shoulder and she wrapped him in her arms.

“Good, then?” he asked, sarky and wry as ever, ignoring the way his own hands stroked her, gentle on her back, caressing the thick tumble of her hair.

“Not so bad, for a skinny, stroppy Brit bastard,” she chuckled, still panting from her climax. She squirmed, and giggled. “Oh, my God, and you’re still hard. Jaze, Shay, come on—it’s not a crime to have one off, y’ silly idjit.”

“It’s a matter of discipline,” he said, voice smug. “And chivalry. I can wait.”

“Wait how long?” She ran her fingers over his collarbone, tracing the lovely line of it, finding her way up to feel his pulse churning in his jugular. At least there she could feel the excitement he controlled so completely. “Come on, Sherl. ‘S not like it’s needed. I’m safe, we’re both clean. Might as well enjoy yourself. It’s not like I’d be upset,” she added, voice droll. “Kinda like to see you come apart, if you’ve got to know.” She undulated her hips, and added, "Come on, Shay-Shay. You might as well--exploit our connection. After all, what's an orgasm between friends?"

“You’ve seen me come apart,” he pointed out, smug. “And proven quite capable of making me do so. This isn’t about our mutual ability to enjoy the process.”

“Then what the hell’s it about?” she asked, peeved and piqued in equal measure.

He chuckled, softly, then whispered in her ear, “It’s about leaving something for you to wonder about. Something for...later." With a laugh he husked, "Maybe I'm just saving myself for marriage...” Then he kissed her cheek, and rolled his hips, setting a new round of shudders through her. “I suspect you’re not tired yet. Would you like me to remedy that?”

“How the hell do you do it?” she asked, moaning softly. “Sherlock…I mean…how long can you last?”

“It’s just discipline,” he said again. “Discipline and training. Focus. Just as I am a master of baritsu, I’ve studied tantra. Anyone could do the same, if they’d just make the effort.” He rolled his hips again, and smiled up into her eyes. “The least a man could do for his lady, my dear.”

Now, in the cab, contemplating the end of it all, Janine swore. “Saving it for after we got married, my sweet arse,” she growled under her breath. “Showing off, that’s what it really was. And proving to himself that there was just that one last boundary to show he wasn’t _really_ doin’ it with me, the bloody bastard.  Smug little prat. Wish I could tell that one to the press…but it would just tickle him pink. ‘Sherlock Holmes Holds His Point. Forever.’ I can see it now…” Then her eyes snapped open, and she stared up at the ceiling of the cab.

The next day Sherlock, sore and half dead from his return to hospital, watched the telly in a weary haze, too doped and emotionally bludgeoned to bother turning the channel in spite of the deathly stupidity of the programming. Dull, dull, dull, he thought, not even really registering that it was Janine until he heard her rich, deep chuckle in response to some question, and forced himself to pay attention.

“Sir Shag-a-lot. Yeah. That was him. ‘Course,” she added, confidentially, “it was kind of a necessity. He had…issues.”

“Issues?” the interviewer asked, voice oozing salacious curiosity. “What sort of issues, Janey? I can call you Janey, can’t I?”

“No,” Janine said, teeth showing white and straight, “you really can’t. As for issues, well….I probably ought not say…” She trailed off, clearly inviting the interviewer to beg.

The interviewer complied. “Oh, please, just between us. Our little secret.”

Janine, the interviewer, and all of England, Sherlock thought, frowning.

“Well,” Janine purred, “I probably shouldn’t. I really shoulnd’t. But…”

“Yes?”

“Well…”

“Go on. Problems in bed?”

“I suppose you could say that,” Janine said, coy and demure. “He could get it up, right enough,” she added, again waiting for encouragement to go on.

“And?”

“And, well…”

“And what?”

Janine smiled, then, straight into the camera. “Yeah. Well. He just kind of always lost it before he could finish, now, didn’t he?” She sighed, as though in charitable sympathy. “He always made sure I was satisfied, mind you. Sweet man. Really sweet. But he just couldn’t finish the job to save his life, I’m afraid. You know the saying ‘Easy come, easy go?’ Well the poor lad never made it to the end of the first clause.”

Sherlock later swore that show alone set his recovery back three full weeks.


End file.
